


the boy who sailed the soul

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curse Breaking, East of the Sun and West of the Moon Elements, Eros and Psyche, Fluff and Angst, Hand Jobs, Long-Haired Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, Sharing a Bed, The Answer is an Emphatic No, The Lady Who Sailed the Soul, Will I Ever Stop the Rose Motifs, space travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Yuuri smiles and bops his nose. “You’re beautiful,” he slurs before whirling him into a dance or twelve. It’s easy to lose track when drunk and full of unbridled joy.Then he awakens the next afternoon with no idea how he got home. He drinks two glasses of lavender liquid that tastes like cucumber and lime water, his headache and dry mouth instantly being relieved.This is not his room.The walls bear a faint shimmer, the air is oddly still, and when Yuuri looks out of his window there are nebulas and glimmering rainbows crossing constellations like the covered bridges of a zen garden. Yuuri is alone, as far as he can tell, and fear begins to grow, splintering within his chest like a pane of glass shatters on a concrete floor.There is no door. There is no ground beneath his window, and the pane will not open besides.A science-fiction/futurist retelling of Eros and Psyche with a dash of other fairy tales.





	the boy who sailed the soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaintingWithWords (paint_with_words)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_with_words/gifts).



Children are often curious creatures, and at the tender age of eight, Katsuki Yuuri was no different as he saw images made of nearly-solid light pop up from his storybooks.

“Mama,” he asks. He’s got a face like the moon and eyes like polished tiger’s eye. He smiles, giggling as the images move across the width of the open book.

His mother picks him up, placing him on her hip. She holds the open book so they both can see, the shifting waves of blue ambient energy adjusting to the new orientation of the pages. “Many years ago — centuries really — there were people who piloted ships through the stars. Their ships were guided by sails that steered them through light and air, and they would guide travelers throughout our galaxy.”

“Wow,” Yuuri said. The light-sailing vessel in glowing red moves over his book like an emergency beacon.

“The trips would take decades, sailing was very slow,” Mama continues. “But we don’t need them anymore, Yuuri. We use the subspace tunnels now. We went to Io last week with one, remember?”

Yuuri did remember. They went to watch one of the rarer volcanic eruptions from an observation deck that had really amazing ice cream. He had too many helpings and got sick.

The boat shifts in hue from red to pink and then a neon purple. The blue waves change into a nebula, and the ship continues its merry voyage.

Yuuri watches the ship until Mama turns the page. The display transforms into a flawless Earthrise with shining blue seas, soft white clouds, and lush green lands as far as the eye can see. A field of stars glimmers behind it using deep blue and silver lights.

Yuuri looks at the stars and the rising planet as he thinks about a cutting figure of a ship with sails that cut through galaxies.

Children are often curious, and when children become adults, often the strangest-seeming things, things that are seemingly far too insignificant, stay with them.

 

* * *

 

 

In his third year of university, Katsuki Yuuri finds a pop-up hologram book from his childhood. He opens it to the page with the sailors cutting through space like the choppy waves of a maelstrom. The book has seen better days as the holograms a little less solid and their lights a little dimmer, but Yuuri watches the ship sail with grace and strength. 

“Ugh, that old thing?” Mari, his older sister, tries to snatch it from his grasp. Yuuri is taller with longer arms, so he easily keeps it from her greedy hands.

Instead of replacing it into the storage tube, Yuuri tucks it into his briefcase. Before he can issue any sort of rebuke, their mother calls them. Their parents have been married 32 years as of today, and son and daughter are treating them to a lavender ash flower hanami on Venus.

The tunnel trip always takes only ten minutes for Venus, and they’re let out by the festival site. Mari holds a silver basket, Yuuri carries their blankets, and their parents regale them with the story of how they met. Yuuri and Mari can recite it by rote as they’ve heard it their whole lives. They share a thermos of sparkling punch as the lavender spores drift down to the ground, blossoming into sprays of brilliant purple flowers that cover their heads like flower crowns.

Music plays from airborne speakers, and Yuuri possibly has two or more too many glasses of punch, but then he’s dancing as perfectly as he would sober, four grand jetés in a row transporting him headlong in a broad chest.  “Sorry, I’m so stupid, sorry,” Yuuri laughs as he looks up into a pair of eyes bluer than any ocean or summer sky.

The man looks down at Yuuri like he’s never seen another human in his life. “Hello?”

Yuuri smiles and bops his nose. “You’re beautiful,” he slurs before whirling him into a dance or twelve. It’s easy to lose track when drunk and full of unbridled joy.

Then he awakens the next afternoon with no idea how he got home. He drinks two glasses of lavender liquid that tastes like cucumber and lime water, his headache and dry mouth instantly being relieved.

This is not his room.

The walls bear a faint shimmer, the air is oddly still, and when Yuuri looks out of his window there are nebulas and glimmering rainbows crossing constellations like the covered bridges of a zen garden. Yuuri is alone, as far as he can tell, and fear begins to grow, splintering within his chest like a pane of glass shatters on a concrete floor.

There is no door. There is no ground beneath his window, and the pane will not open besides.

The dread looms larger within his thoughts, wrapping around him like a shroud of living darkness. After what feels like weeks, Yuuri swallows down his worry to rest against the iridescent sheets. The shimmering of the heavens outside wane as though it is sunset, and Yuuri rolls onto his stomach to rest.

His sleep is uneasy, until the bed is disturbed. Another person climbs in behind him, and Yuuri smells ozone, lilacs, and strawberries as they move close enough to touch his back. His eyes opening when their hand makes contact, Yuuri sees the room is pitch black. Or perhaps he has been blindfolded.

After running his hands over his eyes, Yuuri knows the room is just that dark, like some kind of vacuum stealing all of the light. “Hello,” he hears a man say. “Are you comfortable?”

“I was probably more so before a random stranger got into bed with me,” Yuuri blurts out. It’s rude, but he doesn’t really care. There are larger considerations to be had.

There’s a long pause. “We can get to know each other better, I suppose.”

Yuuri rolls onto his back. The room remains dark like pitch or a singularity. “I can’t even see you.”

Hands find their way to Yuuri’s shoulders, warm, soft thumbs stroking a patch of his skin just at the loose collar of his shirt. “You’re safe. You needn’t be scared if you are.”

The man’s voice and the shockingly gentle touch of his hands makes Yuuri think that… _ yes. _ He actually is safe, in spite of all logic.

“Your dancing is as beautiful as you,” he tells Yuuri, who feels his face heat. “So this house… it was my house for a long time, but now it is for you. You can have anything you desire within these walls.”

“...Okay,” Yuuri answers. “That sounds incredibly…”

“Convenient?”

“ _ Fake _ ,” Yuuri replies. Is he really to believe this building can grant his wishes? It’s utterly preposterous, he thinks as he tries in vain to find the man’s face in the dark. His touch is more distracting than it should be; it grounds and startles Yuuri in equal turn.

“It isn’t, I assure you,” he’s told. “Go ahead and try if you wish.”

Hm.

“Can I have a plate of sakuramochi?” A cold, round disc appears on Yuuri’s left thigh. It’s a dessert plate, fine porcelain from the feel, and on it are a pyramid of sticky balls wrapped in leaves. Yuuri picks one up, manages to remove the leaf as best as he can manage in the dark, and takes a bite. The assumption is that it’s poison first and foremost, but then it’s...  _ real  _ sakuramochi _ , _ sweet and glutinous with its particular cherry blossom flavor.

Yuuri sets the plate by feel onto the nightstand. He finishes his mochi, wiping his hand off on his lounge pants.

The man is right there still, his hands caressing Yuuri’s face this time instead of his neck. “May I?” he asks, and before Yuuri can request an explanation, he is kissed. It is chaste but full of longing, and Yuuri can all but feel the strong aching in his companion’s heart. When they break apart, Yuuri reaches out. Two of his fingers trace a high cheekbone and the sharp slope of his nose. Silken strands tickle the top of Yuuri’s knuckles, and he realizes it must be his hair.

Nothing more occurs. Yuuri is pulled towards the mattress, and they lie close to one another without touching. Confused and curious, Yuuri can’t help but ask, “Can I know who you are at least?”

His wrist is briefly caressed. “Call me Victor,” is the only reply. Victor falls asleep shortly after, and Yuuri lies awake beside him, struggling to see his face or really anything at all. It proves fruitless, and he awakens alone to the same strange dawn the following morning.

He’s disoriented, as the room is unfamiliar still. “Um,” Yuuri begins. “Can I have some toast and tea… I guess?”

A plate of still-hot toasted shokupan forms, along with a variety of jams and spreads. Next to the plate are utensils and a mug of matcha that is perfectly-steeped. The shokupan tastes fresh-baked, and Yuuri slathers it in salted butter and sweet strawberry jam, savoring every bite.

The day proceeds like the one before, only now he knows everything he wants can be conjured by the room. He asks for a coat he longed to purchase that was far too expensive even when it went out of season. It is indigo with red and green beading across its back. The room ensures it’s tailored to fit him perfectly, and Yuuri cannot help but admire himself in a wall-to-ceiling mirror, pushing his bangs back for the full effect of how he’d look if he went out.

The room makes him everything he loves to eat: clam pizza from a place in New England, steak tartare with raw quail eggs, pies of all sizes...the room disposes of the leftovers with no sign of mess, and Yuuri sits with a glass of the most expensive wine in the history of the human race as the “sun” sets into the still, unearthly twilight.

He sits on his bed, feeling the mattress drop with Victor’s weight as it did the night before. Also as it happened the night before, Victor holds his face, giving him a single kiss to say goodnight, and they take their rest.

The third day, Yuuri tries to find a door, but the room seems to keep expanding. It’s like living within a labyrinth, and Yuuri’s nerves begin to fray when he realizes he must have walked four miles. He turns and is right back where he began; he chooses to soothe himself with fruit-infused water as well as a variety of chocolates and the room’s approximation of his mother’s katsudon.

Victor joins him at bedtime again, with a third kiss.

Yuuri struggles between curiosity and frustration.

This is their pattern.

Yuuri spends his days alone, the house conjuring whatever he imagines. He’s lonely in the daytime, so it creates a small dog for him one afternoon. He misses his family and friends, so the room becomes full of photos of their best days that he never took. His favorite clothing is replicated along with books, music, and art.

Every night he lies in bed as Victor comes to him. Some nights they sleep quickly, others Yuuri asks questions about his likes and dislikes, his family.

It takes Yuuri too long to realize he always ends up doing the talking instead about his background, but when the topics are things like travels, Victor is all too happy to respond. He also only ever gives Yuuri a single kiss goodnight surrounded by sweet words and compliments. Yuuri doesn’t know his face or last name, but his kisses fill him with butterflies demanding more.

“Will you come during the day tomorrow?” Yuuri asks as he senses Victor beginning to drift to sleep. It’s a ritual before long, even though he knows the answer.

“Not yet,” Victor answers every time. “Soon, but not yet.”

More days pass and Yuuri learns that Victor also has a dog, though she does not share their bed during sleep. Victor likes the color red, sweet wine, and dancing, so in spite of the darkness, Yuuri convinces him to waltz one night around the clock striking twelve. His hand rests low on Yuuri’s waist as Yuuri backwards leads them around the room. He can tell from this that Victor is a couple of inches taller, and Yuuri’s heart aches with excitement and something still beyond mere words as they continue their dancing until near dawn.

At some point when he ceases marking the passage of time, Yuuri realizes he’s in love.

 

* * *

  
  
The house will grant Yuuri’s every whim and desire, and while part of him sounds a warning that this could be foolish, he brings into being a candle that cannot be extinguished or diminished by unyielding darkness. The house complies, and Yuuri hides it on his side of the bed by the floor. 

Victor is kind, gentle, and caring. His words are warm, his touch loving. For a time, this satisfies Yuuri, but he’s always been one to panic and fret over things that can be swept to the side. He wants to see Victor’s face even though he cannot yet, and while he understands that Victor’s face does not matter… his heart aches to know his visage as intimately as he believes he does his soul.

Darkness falls, and Yuuri is joined by Victor as ever. Tonight Yuuri reaches out, feeling Victor’s shoulders tense when his hands rest against his bare back. It’s an old art to him at this point, finding Victor in the dark, and Yuuri crosses the space between them.

For the first time,  _ he _ kisses  _ Victor _ .

His right hand drifts down his skin to rest over his beating heart, and Victor wraps his arms around his waist, pulling him onto his lap. Yuuri reaches down, his hand running over Victor’s brow bone to brush soft bangs out of his eyes. He longs to know their color, their shape, if they scrunch at the corners when he laughs.

If they’re some kind of moldy brown, if they’re red like a solar flare… Yuuri will love him just the same.

They kiss again, and Yuuri uses the leverage to lay Victor on his back beneath him. He straddles what seems to be Victor’s waist with his ass resting over his groin. There’s a stirring there, his body reacting with obvious interest in Yuuri’s position.

They’ve skirted around this as well, the electric current Yuuri feels buzzing below his skin that has no means of escape. A single kiss goodnight and nothing further, not even an embrace as they sleep for these long months begins to give as though a levee has crumbled into a sea. Yuuri bends to capture Victor’s lips again with his own answering arousal rippling through his veins.

Yuuri has never felt this  _ hot _ before in his young life.

The room grants Yuuri’s wishes, conscious or otherwise, and Yuuri finds a glass bottle next to his freehand that absolutely didn’t exist a minute ago. The kissing doesn’t cease, because if it does so too will Yuuri’s life, and somewhere between managing to open the bottle and finding it full of an oil scented like lavender ash blossoms and honey. It feels like Victor has a dozen hands as he maps every centimeter of Yuuri’s now-bared skin, and Yuuri warms the oil on his hands before taking a hold of both of their wanting members. He aligns them like the stars in Orion’s belt, stroking them together, and Victor chokes on a gasp.

Yuuri licks inside of his open mouth, and they rock into one another for what seems perilously slow minutes, days, weeks. Yuuri wants to chase his pleasure, but he wants this moment to last until the universe dies, until all life perishes to give way to something new. Their love-making becomes more urgent as their completion draws closer, and Yuuri moans into Victor’s mouth with his release. Victor sings his name like a hymn as he finishes at the same moment.

Their kissing becomes lazy, sated, and content, and the room cleans them so they may rest. Victor’s head rests on Yuuri’s shoulder with his hand over his heart, and when he’s still with slumber, Yuuri moves just enough to grab his hidden candle from the tile below.

He ignites it, casting its light over Victor and… god, he’s _beautiful_ , Yuuri thinks as he’s rendered mute and breathless. Pale hair like liquid star shine, thick lashes and an Aquiline nose, soft, Cupid’s bow lips —  he’s perfect. “Oh my God,” Yuuri says in a hush when he can speak.

It’s louder than he must think as Victor stirs. He openly startles at the light over his face, though Yuuri is slow to notice as enchanted as he becomes by his electric-blue eyes. “Yuuri!” he flails, knocking the candle to the floor, and Yuuri stares for another reason as he covers his features. “Why?”

“I just wanted to see you,” Yuuri says. “You’ve… I just wanted—”

“You only needed to wait two more weeks!” Victor says with a desperation that echoes against their walls. “Two weeks would have finished a year, and then—”

Yuuri furrows his brow in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Before Victor can explain, fireflies flit around him in shades of pink and blue, and he begins to fade, turning intangible before disappearing entirely. “Victor!” Yuuri screams as he tries to hold on and failing as his hands pass through him instead of gripping solid flesh...

Yuuri’s heart lands in a pile of ashes and dust due to his disappointment and his sorrow. Where did he go wrong? He loves Victor —  what did he mean by two weeks? Why this? Why now?

The false morning dawns, and Yuuri does something he should have when he first awakened here.

He asks the room to explain.

 

* * *

  
_ There is a man who lives in a castle at the edge of the universe. With eyes like blue dwarves and hair that trails like a comet’s tail in pure white and pale flax, this man is who guides the creation and destruction of all that is.  _

_ When humans begin to take shape, talk, use tools while forming societies, families, and friendships, he stands above and observes. He cannot interact as he is too far beyond their comprehension, but he cannot help his spying.  _ _ He sometimes travels among the stars between many worlds, and the one he likes best is Earth. The people there come and go, talking of many things such as art or their children, and the man, Victor, stands apart as he is not one of their number. _

_ Sometimes, Victor uses a glamor to look as the men do, and he blends into crowds to make a connection with… anyone, to be honest. _

_ The creature that bore him and the others like him decides to make a wager: if Victor can win the heart of a person, he will be made flesh and bone, granted a chance at a human life with his mate. _

_ The catch, though, as there always is one, means that for an entire year, the person would not be allowed to see his face or know his true nature. They had to fall in love on their own with solely words between them. _

_ It is now thirteen days before the completion of the year. _

_ Victor has lost. _

 

* * *

 

A pair of tears roll down Yuuri’s cheeks. “Where is he now?” he asks the room.

_ You cannot reach him or follow, for he is beyond the stars at a distance that no human could survive to reach. No existing vessel can traverse the path. _

The storybook comes to mind then, and Yuuri wonders. “Room, can you make me a star-sailing ship?”

The room hesitates, but then it fabricates a vessel with sails of rainbow light and a hull of a metal like platinum that is sealed from the harsh vacuums of space. Yuuri boards the ship with the dog companion his Room made; inside is a cabin for a captain, a dining hall, a bathroom, and the deck has a wheel to steer her by, as well as the riggings for the sails.

He has no idea where to go or how to find Victor, but he will, of this he is sure. Even if he dies when they meet again,  _ he will find him _ .

“Ship,” Yuuri tries.

It lights up in response, living and breathing.

“Ship, can you help me find Victor?”

The ship does not reply, but it takes flight, leaving the Room behind and Yuuri holds the helm even though it’s just for show.

Space has no cardinal directions. There is no up or down, nor east or west. If a ship’s navigation shuts down, it will drift ceaselessly until repairs are made or its orbit decays and it crashes. Yuuri has no coordinates to give, no idea where to go. Where can be so far beyond the stars he cannot find him? Wouldn’t he perish if he had to travel such a distance?

Yet the Ship travels far and wide, and Yuuri spends what he assumes are his days at the helm, resting to  keep his wits sharp when the ship sounds a chime signaling the evening has come.

Weeks, perhaps months, or even a year or two pass, and Yuuri’s vessel comes to a small planet of nothing but sand. There is no life on this planet —  really more of an asteroid with some treacherous baobab trees and a very tiny, dormant volcano. Yuuri climbs down the ship’s stairs, running his fingers through reddish sand and smelling air of sulphur that sustains him.

There is very little, if any, water. The light from the nearby star is harsh and hot, burning a deep crimson unlike Earth’s yellow sun rays.

Before Yuuri lies a bag of seeds. He recognizes the writing as Cyrillic. “Ship, what does this say?”

_ Роза, _ Ship replies.  _ Rose. The rest of the writing is the instructions to cultivate them from the seeds. They require six hours of sun a day while planted in rich soil that drains easily. They also require coarse mulch, deep, infrequent irrigation, regular pruning. Insects will destroy them quite easily, so regular inspections and pesticide usage is advised. _

The ground is sand, not dense and nutrient-rich soil. There is no mulch, there is barely water. The sunlight may not help them thrive. Yet Yuuri feels compelled to try. He digs a hole with a trowel and plants the seeds. For months he waters the spot with care, believing against all hopes that somehow even just one may thrive.

Hybrid roses can gestate in two weeks with the proper conditions. Yuuri does not keep rigid track, but he’s certain it’s far in excess of half a month when a bush begins to sprout. There are no blooms, and he continues to do what he can to nourish it. Baobabs are deadly to most living things in the same manner mint will destroy a garden if let loose, but Yuuri dons a suit and makes it into the mulch he needs.  __

Buds form, but not a one blossoms. He waters them. He makes more mulch. He considers moving it to a spot on the asteroid with more sun.

Many days beyond his arrival, after his hair has grown long enough to pass his collar, one of the black buds turns a vibrant royal blue. It opens the next morning with a faint shimmer on its fragrant petals.

The drops that form on the open flower… Yuuri takes too long to recognize them as his tears.

He carefully takes the rose, putting it in a special glass container that will sustain its life for eons if need be. Without being told, as he simply  _ knows _ , Yuuri climbs back onto his Ship.

The Ship re-enters the stars, setting forth to their unknown destination. Yuuri admires the blue rose, pets his dog, and waits. Ship has not steered him wrong so far; he trusts it with his soul.

This leg of the journey is much longer, Yuuri one day being surprised when he sees his reflection that he must be at least 35 by now. His hair is longer, and when he smiles, there are faint lines by the corners of his lips. He frets momentarily, before realizing that Victor loved him too without the knowledge of his face. Surely a bit of time cannot diminish the affection in his heart.

The Ship docks itself on a planet that is little more than an eerie wasteland. There is barely any solid ground, the world made of nothing more than black rivers that run like oil. The few rocks are slick and dangerous. The one plant, sparse and always growing in clusters of two with blooms of a blue so pale that they are almost white.

The river is incredibly rough, raging as though a storm was recent. It smells like lavender grey ash plants and the honey from the oil the last night he saw Victor, like his mother’s home cooking, like a sunny day and sparkling wine punch. As quickly as the memories form, they wisp away like dandelion seeds or a quiet storm all too briefly heralding spring.

There’s an iridescent bottle like a darkened rainbow with a label in Cyrillic as the rose seeds had been. The water rushes past him. “Ship, can you help again?”

_ Воспоминание _ , Ship explains.  _ Memories _ .

Yuuri watches the rivers run. “Where are we?”

_ Tartarus _ , Ship answers.  _ Where the Lethe feeds into the Acheron’s lake bed. _

The rocks have an edge that can cause Yuuri to slip if he is not careful. Again, a thought in his mind drives his actions as he removes the cork from the bottle, though his task is hazardous and nearly impossible.

If this is truly where Lethe feeds into Acheron, then he will either drown in sorrow or forget all that was before his arrival on Tartarus should he fall into the water. Yuuri feels his back grow slick with sweat as he crouches by the water with a precarious posture. He manages two-thirds of a bottleful before his left foot almost slides from under him. It’s very close that he does not fall into the dark water as he stumbles and tiptoes towards the Ship, the rocks as frictionless as clean glass beneath his shoes.

Yuuri corks the bottle; the water and the glass instantly clear, shimmering with pale lavender, royal blue, and a rose pink. The glass is tinted silver, the cork becoming an ornate stopper of gold and silver. The writing on its label becomes gold leaf as  _ 忠実度  _ replaces the Cyrillic.

Yuuri needs no translation this time.  _ Fidelity,  _ he reads in his native tongue.

The Ship soars the stars again. Years or even decades pass, but Yuuri’s determination only gains in strength, never diminishing or becoming burdensome. He tasks the Ship in transit with creating a portrait of Victor from that fateful night, though no aquamarine paint can truly capture his eyes. He makes do with his memory, using it to spur him onward.

He never wavers, though, not even for a moment.

The Ship drops anchor on a world of dark clouds and angry crimson lightning. Yuuri departs the deck as rain falls of white and gray ashes. He can scarcely see a meter in front of him. The winds sting his face like angry whips.

The terrain is mostly flat. The windstorms show no signs of stopping. “Ship, what do I do?”

_ Walk until you find her _ , Ship answers.  _ When you find her, you will know. _

Yuuri has Ship make his clothing into protective garments including goggles with a night vision mode.  He walks for days and nights, endlessly and tirelessly. He never needs water or food, somehow, but his journey lasts perhaps an entire age, if not a century.

Yuuri trips at one point, and there is a box etched in pink and gold. Meant to house a pair of rings, the box is empty.

The sound of a woman crying is what Yuuri notices next, and he rounds a bend to see her kneeling on the ground in a gown of chartreuse with eyes that match. Her hair is a mahogany brown that cascades to the ground, parted in the middle to show off her high cheekbones and arched brows.

She is beautiful, though not so much as Victor. Just as he’s about to ask after her, she collects herself, wiping her final tear away with a finger.

She stares at Yuuri.

Yuuri stares back, deciding to let her speak first.

“You have been quite determined for many years,” she begins. “Was it worth the price you paid?”

The wind dies and behind her there now stands a mirror. It is at least 50 feet tall, with an ebony and bronze frame. There are chains hanging off one of the top corners, and at its base lies a skirt of gold. Yuuri sees himself before it, with long hair that is now more gray than black, with smile and frown lines etched deep into his cheeks, with paper dry skin stretched thin over his hands.

Beyond his reflection, inside the mirror itself, is Victor with his eyes as clear as ever. His hair is still that shimmering platinum. He hasn’t aged a moment, let alone the decades Yuuri has been searching.

Yuuri feels a single tear fall. He wipes it as the woman did her own. “He’s my life and love,” he says with a watery smile. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Victor stands by the glass. He presses his hand against it. “Yuuri,” he says, though his words get in the way.

“And you?” The woman asks. Her eyes have transformed into solid black with patterns of stars.

Victor weeps — though, he does so with a vibrant smile. “I love him just the same.”

The woman changes, her whole body becoming a star field, crackling with the energy given off by nuclear fission. “So be it then,” she says with a voice that shakes the ground. She vanishes into the firmament (perhaps she was part of it all along), and behind her drop a pair of golden rings.

However, Victor and Yuuri remain separated by the mirror. Yuuri rests his palm to Victor’s through the glass. This close he can see that within the frame are three words inscribed over and over like a motif.

_ Решительность. Верность. Истина. _

“Ship, can you translate again?” Yuuri requests.

_ Determination. Fidelity. Truth,  _ Ship replies.

Inspecting the mirror further, there are three keyholes. One is shaped like a rose in bloom, one like a glass bottle with a stopper, and the last as though its key was a pair of circular bands. Yuuri puts the blue rose into the one, the vial of the water in the second, and the rings into the final place.

The pane of glass swings open like a door, and Victor stumbles out into Yuuri’s arms. He smiles at him, and Yuuri smiles in return as he presses his forehead against Victor’s own. They hold each other as though they will be separated once more. Yuuri closes his eyes with a smile pressed into Victor’s shoulder, and when he opens them, they are back in their room.

Victor’s eyes widen briefly, but then he regains his composure. “You’re young again,” he utters before kissing Yuuri for the first time in far too long. Yuuri laughs into the kiss, not sure he believes him, but then he looks at their reflection in the darkened windows, and he has been restored to his former youth.

This time, they spend their days together too, until enough years pass that they must leave their mortal plane. Or perhaps the boy who sails the stars still searches powered by hope and determination to reunite with the one he loves.

After all, this is but one version of their story. There are countless others throughout space and time.

**Author's Note:**

> Katsuki Yuuri is the boy who sailed the stars. 
> 
> Do I have any other Cordwainer Smith fans out there? Just me? Sure. Well anyways, this is a mixture of his [The Lady Who Sailed the Soul](https://archive.org/stream/Galaxy_v18n04_1960-04#page/n29/mode/1up), cherry picking details from [Eros and Psyche](https://www.greeka.com/greece-myths/eros-psyche.htm) as well as [East of the Sun, West of the Moon](https://quinnsbooknook.com/2013/02/04/review-east-of-the-sun-and-west-of-the-moon/), with cameo appearances of [Asteroid 325 (or we'd call it B-12)](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Little_Prince), [the underworld of Greek myth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tartarus), [Nehelenia's Mirror from Sailor Moon SuperS/the Dream Arc](https://sailormoon.fandom.com/wiki/Queen_Nehellenia), and some others I can't immediately recall.
> 
> This would be a mess without thehobbem and lilywinterwood's help, thank you as always ladies.
> 
> Anne, I deeply hope you like this as I veered wildly from what I sent via anonymous messages to you. <3


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